It happened. Funny is dead. Oh you did it. You did it with a pair of narrow scissors, tinkering and oiling up that old rusty conglomerate weapon. And oh shit did it grow.
Masses of worry building up the damn gun arming it from different angles… No TIME FOR LIGHT HARDED LAUGHTER. No raunchy tunes, no happy candles to light. Only a gun… A SHOTGUN baby! Aimed at the monster you willingly give your soul too. It doesn’t die and when you walked in on it in the bathroom while it photographed its ass with a Nixon mask on, you shot it. You shot it down and it laughed and laughed. But you ignored it, because it owns your laughter now. Your serious convictions are all that is left. Haha you done fucked sally succubus and she’s got you by your dick and balls!
Meanwhile the lonely few of us riding the new media, are deep in the now perpetual menstruating fiend that previously had allot more to say. Now the dirt is too high to breath. Guess it’s time to take to the road in hopes that the ground will settle.